


a little more yours today

by LiberAmans214



Series: SPN Advent Calendar 2020 [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (but a BETTER finale where cas comes back as human), Because 15x20 can suck it <3, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Claire Novak's Parents, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Castiel is mostly Naked, Dean Winchester Cooks, Dean Winchester's Love Language, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Morning Kisses, Pancakes, Post-Finale, SPN Advent Calendar 2020, Sleepy Castiel (Supernatural), but this isn't about that it's pure fluff I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27896221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiberAmans214/pseuds/LiberAmans214
Summary: Footsteps approach the kitchen, and Dean Winchester turns back to the stove with a widening smile. The second stack is almost done. Perfect timing, he tells himself, smug, and only maybe swaying his hips more than what comes naturally while cooking breakfast in pyjamas to a background of Freddie Mercury wanting to break free.The footsteps reach the doorway just as Dean flips his pancake.“Remind me never to ask you why you love me.” He throws over his shoulder with a grin, wondering indignantly for a second how it’s at all fair that he’s blushing at his own words.But then life would be a lot easier, and way less fun, if all things weren’t fair in love.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: SPN Advent Calendar 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038195
Comments: 2
Kudos: 109





	a little more yours today

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: baking and cooking

Footsteps approach the kitchen, and Dean Winchester turns back to the stove with a widening smile. The second stack is almost done. Perfect timing, he tells himself, smug, and only _maybe_ swaying his hips more than what comes naturally while cooking breakfast in pyjamas to a background of Freddie Mercury wanting to break free.

The footsteps reach the doorway just as Dean flips his pancake.

“Remind me never to ask you why you love me.” He throws over his shoulder with a grin, wondering indignantly for a second how it’s at all fair that he’s blushing at his own words.

But then life would be a lot easier, and way less fun, if all things weren’t fair in love.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean finally turns, pancake ready, about to launch into a half-rehearsed, half-gleefully-winged monologue about love languages and _food_ , pancakes, and being the best husband of all time.

But he stutters to a halt before he’s even begun, eyes glued to Cas.

Cas, in his unfastened robe and bedheaded glory — perfect, pink lips pursed, still grumbly from sleep. Cas’s shoulders, his chest, _hipbones_ , and beyond. Cas, with his adorably bleary stare, quick to flip to hungry once they fall upon the plate in Dean’s hand, blue, and unerringlypretty.

Cas, looking like the stuff of Dean’s dreams, barely even awake. And Cas, the love of his life.

Just — _Cas_.

Dean’s heard of head-over-heels before, but he’s never quite expected it to literally feel like toppling over, and going flying through the sky — kind of like in the animated cartoons Cas wordlessly watches with him (for the plot, he insists, and for Dean, Dean _knows_ , because he’s the best friggin’ thing that ever happened to him, that’s why.)

“Remind me,” Dean whistles, going for suggestive though he’s pretty sure he’s objectively too dazed for it. “To never ask you why I love _you_.”

Cas tilts his head, tradition and all, eyeing Dean mildly as if he’s not quite sentient enough to do the human equivalent of reading Dean’s mind — “understanding you involves picking up on everything you don’t say as well, Dean, and that is not unlike angelic thought extraction!” — yet, but can tell there’s been a revelation he’s missed.

“Unless you’re joking,” Cas says at last, ponderous, and pulling a chair. “I’d like you to know you can ask me anything.”

Dean tsks.

“Although,” he keeps going. “You’ve never asked those things before, and the chances of you asking them in the future don’t strike me as many.”

Dean rolls his eyes fondly, putting the plates on their wooden table-for-two, and sitting down across from Cas.

(When it’s just them, they’ve started having breakfast in the kitchen — less distance to carry the dishes, more easily served helps, and occasionally Dean manages to persuade Cas into making out with him sat on the counter, general rules of domesticated living abandoned and Cas between his legs, since there’s nothing quite like a post-breakfast kitchen-makeout to wake you up, he’ll never stop claiming.

When Sam and Eileen are over (every Saturday) or Jack or Claire are visiting (they just pop in whenever really) or Jody and the the girls, of course, there’s always the big dining table in the real dining room.)

“It’s like Humaning 101 every morning with you.” Dean informs Cas around a mouthful of pancakes, and Cas wrinkles his nose in indignance, laced with disapproval.

“That’s unfair.”

“Okay.” Dean smirks, putting his fork down, and propping his chin in his palm. “So the robe, you know, the whole frontal nudity thing you’ve got going on today, it’s a conscious choice?”

“I —”

Probably for the first time since morning, Cas looks down at himself. Dean waits, watches his eyes widen in realization, and ultimately close with a sigh of regret.

“Oh, son of a bitch.”

And that’s it.

Dean throws his head back and bursts out laughing because nothing could _possibly_ get more human, or more perfectly fitting an end to this morning than that, and when he’s able to breathe again, he leans in to kiss Cas’s disappointed frown off — and Cas meets him in the middle, because he’s awesome like that — and _this_ right here?

Breakfasts, and falling a little deeper in love every morning for no particular reason, and random profanities, and kisses?

It’s exactly Dean wants to do for the rest of his days.

And _that’s_ a whole bunch of perfect in itself, so there’s that — and there’s them — and by handwritten fate, and some strokes of incredibly good luck, they’re _it_.


End file.
